All My Sons
by nite'starr
Summary: A fateful anniversary sends Snape headlong into the painful bowels of old wounds. Losses he hasn't healed from return to haunt him. The boy who lived, the final war, and marriage have changed Severus from the spiteful teacher he once was...But how much?


Disclaimer: I don't own, make money, or otherwise profit from exploiting characters and situations from J.K. Rowling's books.

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Chapter 1

With a final spurt of fury, Snape smashed the last of the Grindylow jars to the ground, enveloping the room in a green haze. He stopped, staring at the ownerless hands that had wreaked havoc on his cherished potions lab. Pixie shells lay in shambles, the beetle eggs he had pureed so smoothly that morning, puddled at his feet. Defeated, Snape crumpled into his sagging, black leather armchair. One slender palm supported the weight of his head and his thoughts, as Severus's lanky hair cascaded over his face. The once greasy black strands were now heavily interspersed with gray.

_Twenty one years_, he thought. November _12, 2019 is 21 years later, almost to the_ _day,_ Snape mused, reveling in the dark irony of it. _I wonder if the raven-haired hero would_ _laugh at me. Perhaps smirk, in that mannerism so like his father's. Dumbledore's knowing eyes would darken, and he would spout some comforting words at me, patting me on the shoulder. "My boy," he'd call me. I would storm out, slamming the door on his twinkling eyes and oaken office. Alas, that honored door still swings wildly, opening onto an empty office. Hogwarts is desolate, _thought Snape as his gaze locked with the blurred images outside his window. His eyes roamed the distance, as if searching for the glorified castle that lay in ruins.

"Master Severus," Dobby stated. "It is dinner hour. Mistress tells Dobby Master must join. Or else, she says." The house elf's yellowed eyes grinned happily at the thought of the stern potions master cowering from his wife's tirade.

There would definitely be a telling off for him, Snape knew, if he didn't descend that minute. After all, Elyse always kept to her word. And she hated waiting.

* * *

January 10, 1998 

Footsteps pounded down a multitude of steps. Potter's tousled hair popped into view. "Professor," he screamed. He was panting, and the trademark green eyes were darting nervously. In the back of his mind, Snape's trained eyes noticed the red-tinged lighting bolt throbbing on Harry's forehead

"What now, Potter?" The snideness was in Severus's voice full force. "Has someone got your knickers in a twist?" He glared down at the frantic 17 year old.

"Something is happening, Professor. I..I..I… wanted to tell you." By now Harry's pale face was twisted in agony. His trembling hand clawed at his face. Severus was getting impatient.

"Spit it out, Potter."

Harry groaned loudly just as Snape's door was yanked open yet again. The young Weasley stumbled into the potion master's office, terror inscribed onto his slack-jawed expression.

"Voldemort's here," he managed to stutter.

Snape shook his head, coating the yellowed parchment scattered around him with a smattering of grease. _He had come to_ me_! The idiot boy ran to me first; he trusted me. He should have gone to Dumbledore, the old fool would have been of more use than I was. Too trusting as usual_, thought Snape. _Serves him right_, he reasoned grimly. _But he trusted me. Of all people_…, Severus grew lost in the ancient memories. _And I brushed him off._

Elyse herself was now rooted to the foot of the staircase, hollering at Severus "to get his lazy arse to dinner." The archaic stairs creaked with his weight as he complied.

Dinner was lavish; platters of fire-roasted duck, julienne potatoes, sautéed peppers, and scalloped onions braced the table with a natural ease that Severus had come to loathe. "Too easy to fall into routine," Snape muttered, catching his spouse's eye for the first time that evening.

Elyse was dressed meticulously, Snape observed with a sense of detachment. Her red robes complemented her pale complexion; her light hair was drawn into a tight bun McGonagall would approve of. Snape's eyes fell to his own demeanor, noticing with faint interest his disheveled appearance. His black robe was aging; patches of thin yarn came loose in places, his dark boots were scuffed and worn. He felt his wife's appraising look as well, aware of her disdain towards his unwillingness to _try_ to live normally.

Snape raised his eyebrows at Elyse, a wry smirk playing on his lips. She responded with a slight chuckle emerging from the pits of her stomach. It was a hollow, aching sound.

* * *

April 12, 2016 

Buoyant laughter echoed through the large foyer, bouncing off the marble mantle and filling Snape's thoughts. Landon came bustling in, black eyes glinting with a boyish humor Snape's had never known. The child was a mess; his green robes were covered in mud, hair sticking up unnaturally in an assortment of directions. He deserved a scolding, Snape knew, but he couldn't bring himself to rebuke the proud child. He settled on a stern glare and an insistence that the boy immediately shower.

Clean, Landon bounded down the stairs in a flash of color, and sat himself at the table, his chair askew and his napkin on the floor.

"Manners," Snape reminded him in a dry voice, one Landon was all too familiar with.

In response, the child scrunched up his face in a grotesque imitation of Snape's expression. "Manners," he repeated, copying his father's dry voice exactly. "Manners are for knumbsuckle squibs."

Elyse coughed, her former laugh choking her. She was still watching him, Snape felt. Her pale eyes were damp with their own memories. "Eat, Severus," she motioned toward the opulent meal spread out before them. The duck and vegetables looked back at Snape forlornly, as if aware of their fate. "Please," she repeated while stabbing a slice of succulent foul.

Severus's gaze passed over his pleading wife as she begged from him a semblance of normalcy. He scanned the ample food that would go untouched that evening; Dobby would take the leftovers to the children's shelter a few blocks away. His eyes settled on the third chair at the table, empty now.

"I can't," he whispered. Turning his back on the dining room, Snape staggered to the haven of his lab.

* * *

April 23, 1998 

_Potter was in my lab again_, Snape noticed as he neared the immaculate office. The teenager was slumped in a plastic chair on the far end of the laboratory, his lanky form pulled taut by nerves.

"Problem?" Snape shouted across the room, his tone bitter. When Potter failed to respond, Snape peered at him and took in the trance-like state the boy was in. Stepping back from the Gryffindor, Snape waited impatiently for him to stir. A few minutes stretched on until Potter's eyes snapped open and he jumped out of the chair, knocking over the chrysanthemum bulbs beside him.

"Problem?" Snape repeated, his voice strung thin from anxiety. The insolent boy stared at Snape, meeting his scrutinizing gaze.

"No, sir," he snapped, and made his way to the door.

"Potter," Snape screamed, "sit down!" Harry threw a glare of hatred at his professor.

"Sectumsempra," he cursed, and fled the room as a stream of red luminescence hit Snape in the chest, knocking him off balance.

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End file.
